Odds and Ends (Or Shave and a Haircut, Two bits)
by mrstserc
Summary: Sam, Dean, and Cas take care of some needed things on their way to a case in New Mexico, including Sam getting a haircut. Another drabble that has me cleaning up loose ends from Some Sin for Nothing. Please read and review.


_(Author's note: If you do not think Sam needs a haircut – then you have no concept whatsoever of how dangerous long hair is in a physical fight. Suicide hair, it's called. See, me, I worry about those Winchester boys. They are so busy saving the world and all the innocent people in it that they don't take care of themselves! For example, Sam needs a haircut before some vamp snaps his neck after getting a handful of those shining locks. Even military and police women do not allow their unbound hair to flow so long and freely; this I know unequivocally. But what can I do – except make sure Sam's hair gets singed in Some Sin for Nothing. _

_When Mummy and I were writing Some Sin for Nothing, there were parts that didn't fit…but I thought were needed. So this is my second drabble that takes place based in MummyMollyWeasley's Before the Fall 'Verse – which is an alternate to the Season 7 of canon. Bobby's alive; no Leviathan; no time in purgatory.) _

Preceding stories in this verse: 8611109/1/Before-the-Fall - 8664332/1/Afterwards - 8669451/1/Incarceration - 8685399/1/Some-Sin-For-Nothing - 8734798/1/Drive –

. . .

Odds and ends

The Impala pulls into Roswell, New Mexico, with Castiel, the new driver, still behind the wheel. Dean has been a very busy back-seat driver for hours. _Sam purposefully goaded Dean_, Cas believes.

And why do either of the Winchesters feel doing five miles an hour under the – by Cas's understanding of the Driver's Manual - posted _maximum_ speed limit requires so many comments? It is surely safer than going _as fast as legally allowed_. The 527 mile trip has taken 10 hours of driving time, which should be perfectly acceptable. As Cas is explaining this, Sam laughs – _again_. He has been laughing almost nonstop since Cas got into the driver's seat, making it difficult for Cas to fully relax into his selection of cassettes, Summer Rain Storm, Ocean Waves, and Tropical Rain Forest.

"_That's it! _We are staying right here in UFO city until I can drive again," Dean threatens, but even he isn't thrilled about it. The place reminds him too much of Mystery Spot, except - well - all the little green men on almost every sign, business name, and restaurant. The Budget Hotel has Wi-Fi and Dean commandeers Sam's laptop for _research_, he says, sending Sam and Cas out to pick up something to eat, and drink. They are headed for Albuquerque, just a couple hundred miles away, for their next case. When they return, Dean surprises Sam and Cas when he tells them that he has made arrangements to see an orthopedic doctor at the Lovelace Medical Center in the morning.

"You okay, Dean," Sam asks, the little brother wondering if he actually reinjured Dean pushing him back over the seat when his big brother was trying to assert his ownership of the Impala. Dean answers that he has everything under control, finishes his burger and beer and turns in early.

"Both of you get some sleep. We've all got appointments tomorrow," Dean announces enigmatically.

. . .

Dean insists that his doctor repeat, _twice_, in front of Sam and Cas, that his knee is well enough that a brace is sufficient instead of the cast the doctors put on it after his injury in San Antonio. He also makes it a point to have the doctor say that he is allowed to _remove_ the brace, needs it only for walking, and that _Dean_ was cleared to _drive his car_. Then he practically dances his way, in a limping shuffle, to the Impala's driver's door after the appointment and prepares to drive them to their next scheduled stop.

A-Ok Tattoo Parlor is not far, and Dean pulls into a parking place alongside the street. "C'mon, Cas. Let's get you marked up a little bit more," Dean says cheerfully. "Thought you'd rather go here than the other place in town – The House of Pain," he adds, seeing Castiel's wary look.

Sam has to admit, it's actually a damn good idea, and it's about time for Castiel to have the anti-demon possession tattoo permanently etched onto his chest. He has been human and their hunting partner for several months. "We've been lucky not to have any run ins with demons lately," Sam says, offering his encouragement.

The three men enter the tattoo parlor with the Winchesters flanking the smaller man. "I feel like you're escorting me," mutters Cas, wondering if all Dean's rules about acting like a _not-couple_ apply, even in a small town in New Mexico when he might be– _just a little bit_ – nervous about his first tattoo.

The artist greets them and gets Cas settled in a comfortable lounge chair before asking where the tattoo's placement should be and whether Cas has chosen a design. Cas strips off his buttoned over shirt and black tee shirt and endures the three scrutinizing pairs of eyes on his vessel's, _no his_, scars; the Enochian symbols he had carved there to banish his brothers, the remains of cuts, scrapes, and stabs. Cas's ears are bright red on the tips, and his cheeks are flushed.

As for the art work Cas wants, Dean unbuttons and removes his shirts to show the design and to help Cas feel less conspicuous in his half nakedness, not that Dean is comfortable with being undressed in public either. He eyes the artist with his stone-cold killer look when the guy snorts and says how _sweet_ it is that Cas wants to get a matching tattoo. Sam, protective of his big brother as always and seeing the hurt in the back of the angry green eyes, practically growls as he yanks the neck of his tee shirt away to show the same mark on his upper chest.

Maybe the guy gets the hint that his life might be in danger if he says anything else because the word "kinky" freezes on his lips as the hazel-eyed giant looms over him.

_It hurts more than he expected._ Cas tries to stay relaxed – and like he's not being burned -under the hands of a strange man. The unfamiliar touch is annoying him as much as the tattooing. Cas is not used to close physical contact; the garrison angels aren't exactly the touching types, and cherubs don't count. As a human, he has only been in such close proximity to Sam and Dean. Cas's eyes dart over to Dean who is sitting silently being the design example for the artist to work. Blue latches onto green.

Sam wonders if they realize how intently they gaze into each other's eyes, stifling a snort at how _not subtle_ either one is about their affections. _Damn, their eye sex is_ m_aking me uncomfortable_. A change of topic is needed to break their staring contest. "So, for you it's a doctor, Dean. For Cas, a tattoo. What's my appointment?"

The distraction works, and Dean turns a smirk on his brother. "Hair salon." Spluttering, Sam asks what Dean was thinking making a hair appointment for him _without even talking_ _to him_ about it.

"I'm _thinking_ that ever since your hair got all scorched around the edges in the bat cave, you've been wearing those _douchey emo stocking caps_ trying to hide the damage," Dean's gravelly voice doesn't hide his amusement. "I'm _thinking_ that you might look more _professional_ without the hat."

"You were _thinking_ you suddenly became _Dad_!" The younger Winchester has an arsenal of distinctive looks he hoards to unleash on his brother as needed; puppy dog eyes for getting his way and bitchface were the two most commonly used. Sam is in full bitchface.

Dean snorts. "Dad'd had me pulling it every time we sparred to give you a clue about cutting it. He would've told you that your flowing locks of luscious _girly-hair_ would get'cha killed, _Samantha_."

"We can get our hair cut also." As a peace offering, Cas's remark falls on deaf ears. The two Winchesters have bickering down to an art form and they are just getting started. Dean concocted this scheme in repayment for the goading Sam put him through the day before, and they all know it.

Sam pulls himself up, towering over the sitting figures and letting his anger power his tongue. "_You_ don't get to call me names and _accuse me_ of being _girly_," he hisses through his clenched jaw. His narrowed eyes dare his brother to push him any further.

Surprisingly, it's a yelp from Cas that breaks into the tension mounting in the room. The tattoo artist has been distracted. "Wow, dudes. I don't know what's going on, but - _chill_ – please. I'm trying to work here."

With an unspoken agreement shared in silent communication, the brothers agree to wait until they don't have an audience to continue this – _discussion_.

. . .

As Dean thanks the artist and pays him, Cas and Sam walk outside to wait. Castiel decides he may be able to head off further argument before Dean can rush out and throw some of the kerosene they keep in the trunk on it. "Sam, your brother really does worry about you."

"_Don't_ get in this, Cas," warns the younger man. But Cas does not take the warning, instead he tries to convince Sam to take off the hat so he can assess the damage, realizing that maybe he has been a little wrapped up in his own concerns – and Dean's - and neglecting to pay attention to his young friend. The fallen angel is still trying to cajole Sam into cooperation when Dean steps up behind him and tugs off the offending stocking cap, tossing it aside without a word. Sam turns with a roar, but his swing whistles over his brother's head as Dean ducks, landing with a hard jolt and a wince on the bus stop bench.

"You're a frikkin' control freak, Dean." Sam isn't even sure why he is so upset, but his brother's small pained sound is enough to make him think hard about his own behavior. It hasn't been long enough ago since they almost lost Dean, again. Sam rubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw and through the hair that's been the catalyst for this blow up with his brother. Tousling it does not make it look better.

_Setting the cave on fire in San Antonio was a split second decision, Castiel reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrawing the small bottle of lighter fluid that was intended for salting and burning spirits. It's all around them. An ingredient in bombs. In gunpowder. One of the most flammable substances in the natural world, and they are wading in it. Guano burns._

_Neither man hesitated at the time, the text saying Dean was being beaten to death made getting rid of the monsters in the shortest amount of time possible the only way to handle things. Sam would do it again, even if he lost all his hair._

As he heads to the car, Sam's surprised when Dean stops him. "It's just down the street a little bit." Dean stands in front of his brother, obviously trying to read him, his brow furrowed and chewing on his bottom lip. "Sammy, I, … I know I _shoulda_ asked, I guess. I'm sorry." Dean's not good at apologies and is stumbling over this one. "We okay?" Sam may have purposefully manipulative looks, but Dean's earnest glance through his eyelashes at his taller brother has magic powers all its own. And it's a good thing it does because standing this close, Sam cannot miss the quirk of his brother's eyebrows and stifled smirk when Dean gets a good look at the damage done to Sam's locks.

The hat is off, the cat out of the bag, one could say. Sam's hair is long in the back still, but with scorched parts frizzing up here and there. You can't call it a haircut of any kind right now. It's kind of like a _mullet _gone wrong. _It's embarrassing_, Sam thinks, knowing he has tried to hide the damage from his brother and himself for the past two weeks.

Sam lets himself be led by his older brother into the BU-T Salon.


End file.
